


The Little Things

by geekygaga



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Blowjobs, Cherik - Freeform, DOFP spoilers obviously, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post DoFP, So is Charles, assholes in love, charles being a petty asshole, charles is judgmental of erik's fashion sense, erik being a grumpy asshole, erik is smart but also stupid, erik is so dramatic, erik would make an adorable baby sloth, hank really needs a vacation, reluctant hateboners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekygaga/pseuds/geekygaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite all Erik's grand gestures, it's the little things he does that really count. Or, what happened after Erik left his helmet behind at the White House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Helmet

**Author's Note:**

> EVERYONE NEEDS TO LOVE congratcha_well_done, who did the beta for this! She is amazing. 
> 
> Okay so chapter eight is pretty much smut so I'm changing the rating. .  
> If I owned any of the X-Men, Charles and Erik would have had multiple sex scenes, the beach divorce would have never happened, and they would be living happily at Xavier mansion with their five-million adopted mutant children. Comment if you like this or have any constructive criticism — seriously, I will love you FOREVER.

In retrospect, Charles thinks he should have realized what it meant when Erik left the helmet on the White House lawn, but perhaps he can be forgiven for the oversight, considering the fact that he had spent the previous twenty minutes trapped beneath part of a football stadium (fuck you very much, Mr. Lenscherr).

It’s not until they get back to the mansion two days later and Hank shuffles nervously into his study holding the blasted thing like it’s a live bomb and asks “Um...Professor? What should I do with this?” that Charles even registers that Erik hadn’t taken it with him when he left Washington.

He stares at the helmet mutely, long enough for Hank to start that awkward toe-tapping thing he does when he’s anxious, then manages to say something that sounds like, “Leave it here, I’ll deal with it.”

Hank drops the helmet faster than a live coal and makes his escape. Charles is a lot better than he was just a month ago, thank God, but if anything, his metal-bending...thingy (Hank honestly doesn’t know how to classify Erik’s relationship with the professor anymore) is a touchier subject than ever.

Back in the study, Charles looks at the helmet. The helmet looks back at Charles. No, that’s ridiculous. _The helmet can’t look, it’s an inanimate object, get ahold of yourself Xavier._ Nevertheless, he can’t erase the memory of cold grey eyes sparking in contrast against the dull metal, the same eyes that had once softened with warmth over a chessboard beside a crackling glow, that glistened with tears as together they unearthed the buried gems within a dark mind — stop it Charles, stop it right now. He shoves the wretched bucket, and the memories it summons, away, as though physical distance will somehow lessen the ache. It’s a physical manifestation of everything broken between Erik and himself. Why the hell did Hank take it along? Why couldn’t he have left it to be picked up and melted down with the rest of the debris from Erik’s little ‘statement’ dammit?

But... why did Erik leave it behind in the first place?

Charles dismisses the thought as quickly as it appears (he’s become quite good at that in the past decade). Erik probably forgot about the helmet; he had just been shot through the neck after all, and even with a telepathic boost to get him on his feet, that kind of trauma is bound to leave one’s brain a little woozy. Yes, that must have been it.

Charles wraps up the helmet in an old blanket that reeks, rather embarrassingly, of alcohol. Then he puts the bundle in a box, and just to be safe he puts that box in another box. He briefly considers a third, but he’s out all of boxes. So with more ripping and grunting than is strictly necessary, he seals the whole thing up with tape. Belatedly he realizes that an entire roll of duct tape is probably somewhat extreme, but can’t bring himself to care.

“Serves you right, you little shit,” he mutters, not sure whether he’s addressing Erik or the helmet, and writes 'TACKY AS FUCK' on the top in lieu of a label.

When Hank returns an hour later and sees the professor’s little project, he wisely refrains from making any comment beyond asking if he ought to put it upstairs with the old equipment. Charles is muttering to himself from the sofa and doesn’t reply, but Hank, reassured by the absence of any empty bottles, takes this as a yes and leaves with the surprisingly large (the helmet’s not _that_ big) box.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! A quick doodle I did featuring the fruit of Charles' labors. 
> 
> http://revolutionsrule1832.deviantart.com/art/The-Helmet-Box-461261339?ga_submit_new=10%253A1402939426


	2. Peter Pan does not wear Turtlenecks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik appeareth!

Weeks pass, and slowly the mansion begins to regain something resembling its former glory. Doors and windows are opened for the first time in years, bedsheets changed, light-bulbs replaced. The camaraderie of mutual purpose does wonders to ease lingering tensions between Hank and Raven as they dust and mop and mow, and Charles does the best he can to help with the cleaning from his chair. He’s thrown out most of the hard liquor (they’ve locked up a small reserve of the good stuff in case of social necessity of course), and he’s made Hank promise not to give him any more drugs.

He’s still a far cry from the self-possessed, dependable mentor that he once was, the one that Raven and Hank are hoping he can become again. But Charles is trying, really trying. They all are.

Erik’s helmet hasn’t been mentioned since Hank squirreled it (and it’s impressive packaging) away in the attic. The topic of Erik however, is not so easy to ignore. There’s been no reported sighting of him since the fiasco that was the Sentinel exhibition, and Charles doesn’t know what to think. Is Erik lying low? Injured? Captured? Dead? He knows he shouldn’t care — _for God’s sake, the man’s done nothing but cause trouble. You should hope he’s rotting in a ditch somewhere Charles, it would be better for everyone_ — but for someone who can supposedly control minds, Charles is rubbish at disciplining his own. Honestly it’s already taking most of his willpower to refrain seeking out Erik’s mind with Cerebro for **purely strategic purposes** , and if his brain insists on hoping the man isn’t dead, or dying, or being-tortured, well, Charles knows to pick his battles.

So when on a drizzly Tuesday morning he feels the telltale brush of Erik’s mind entering the estate grounds, Charles freezes, a tumultuous mixture of shock/relief/anger/fear/joy/confusion sending his heart pounding and his head reeling. He feels the telltale ping of Erik’s powers activating and waits for a noise from the hall, a knock on the door. Nothing. He can sense Erik’s presence but...

“Hello old friend.”

Later Charles will insist that he most definitely did not squeal like a 12-year-old girl upon hearing a voice behind him and swinging around to see Erik hovering just outside his window like some sort of villainous, overgrown, turtle-neck-wearing Peter Pan.

“Hello Erik,” Charles’ voice is remarkably steady for someone who just moments earlier managed to alert the local bats to his surprise. He should probably call someone but…

“May I come in? I’m getting soaked out here.”

Charles sighs and raises his hands in resignation as Erik glides over the windowsill, alighting gently on the floor. Charles is determinedly not impressed.

“I see you’re out of that ridiculous purple clownsuit you insist on appearing in,” he mutters, and maybe he’s being petty, but he feels he’s earned the right.

Erik however, doesn’t rise to the bait. “It’s maroon, Charles, and I’m trying to stay under the government’s radar.”

Charles ‘hmms’ then crosses his arms. “What’s to stop me from calling them right now and having you arrested? I could…” he taps his temple, “keep you here you know.”

“You won’t.”

Charles thinks ‘fuck you’ very loudly. But to his disappointment, his companion lacks the telepathic ability to pick up on the sentiment. Half of him wants to beg Erik to stay with him so they can work things out, the other half wants to convince the metal-bender’s brain that it belongs to a baby sloth. Charles settles for, “You’re dripping on the carpet.”

 

 


	3. Bombshell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles vents. Erik tries really hard not to be an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be conflict-resolution soon, but Charles still has quite a bit to get off his chest. As usual, feedback is much appreciated, as it keeps my motivation going strong.

Erik’s mouth quirks in what is almost a smile and Charles considers punching him. How dare he be in such a good mood, how dare he radiate that...that fondness when he’s on the run and at the house of the man he’s betrayed twice. Really he should be on his knees begging Charles not to turn his brain into mush… Charles cuts that train of thought off quickly, as the image of Erik on his knees leads to an entirely different fantasy that he really can’t deal with right now.

“I’m afraid I can’t do much about that,” Erik says quietly. _Oh yes, Charles had complained about the dripping_. “Do you mind if I take off my sweater? It’s soggy.”

Charles grits his teeth and nods as Erik peels off the wet turtleneck in a sinfully smooth motion that should definitely be illegal. _Oh fuck_ , Erik’s wearing a white cotton shirt that’s practically see-through and clinging to his skin with water. Charles has really never hated him more. The baby sloth option is becoming more and more appealing.

“Why are you here?” He blurts out, because why is Erik here? Erik has made it clear that he wants no part of Charles’ world, even if Logan had said that they would end up working together in another timeline.

“Can’t I make a social call?”

“You? Social? Call the press.” Charles quips.

“Please don’t,” Erik counters. “I rather think they might try to arrest me.” He pauses, and _God Charles misses this, the easy banter between them, the way that their personalities seem to fit together like pieces of a puzzle…_ Erik’s voice cuts into his reverie, “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

At the softness in Erik’s tone something breaks inside Charles, and suddenly he’s angry, his words spitting vitriol into the gulf that’s grown between them in ten years of silence. “You wanted to make sure we were all right? Well everything’s just fine you _filthy_ hypocrite. Raven’s bullet wound is healing nicely from where you shot her. Hank’s fur is just now growing back from where it was singed off by your sentinels — I know you were controlling them, Erik, don’t make excuses — the bruises from that stadium you dropped on me have mostly faded, thanks a lot. Oh, and I’ve mostly gotten over withdrawal from the drugs I was taking _because you put a bullet in my back_.” He’s out of breath. “Need I go on?”

Erik is quiet for a long time and Charles refrains from peeking into his mind. The surface emotions rolling off him are enough: guilt, anger, frustration, and somehow… affection?

“I really am sorry about the stadium, Charles. I had no idea you were even at the event until Raven started yelling at you.”

Charles laughs, and even he can tell that it’s a broken sound. Fuck, he was doing so well, and now Erik shows up and he feels like he’s drowning.  

“Well that makes it all better,” Charles mutters sarcastically, “I’m sure you would have been just a model citizen had you been aware of my presence.”

Erik’s face is taking on a pinched look and Charles finds a perverse sort of pleasure in finally getting a reaction from him. The metal-bender takes a deep breath however, and plows on.

“I have never wanted to hurt you Charles. The bullet in Cuba? The stadium? Those were my fault, yes, but I swear that injuring you was not my goal.”

Charles’ voice has involuntarily risen several decibels “Well _maybe_ neither of those ‘accidents’ would have happened if you hadn’t been so caught up in being ‘Shaw the Second,’ yeah? _Maybe_ neither of our lives would have been so shitty if you had just taken off the bloody helmet and _let me talk to you_.”

Erik’s face goes white and Charles can feel the shock and rage that boil beneath his skin at being compared to his old tormentor. The metal in the room has started to rattle, but to Charles’ surprise, his chair remains unaffected. _Erik’s control really has improved._ The silence stretches between them for what seems like forever until Erik sighs, broad shoulders that Charles has suddenly become frustratingly conscious of slumping slightly with the exhale.

“Why do you think I left it in your hands, old friend?” He says so quietly that his words are almost lost in the steady patter of the rain on the roof.

Charles, for the first time in a long time, has no idea what to say.

 

 


	4. And the Walls Came Tumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik tries to make good choices for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! Erik's point of view!

Every nerve in Erik’s body is screaming for him to either fight or flee. It would be so damn easy to just fall back into those same old patterns that kept him safe and alone for years, but he’s promised himself that this time will be different. For once in his life he’s going to stand his ground. He owes Charles that much. He just wishes that the other man would stop staring at him with those ridiculously blue eyes, wishes he would say something.

Erik feels naked in front of Charles without the helmet, and not in the nice way he’s imagined to pass the time in prison— _scheisse, watch yourself Erik, solitude has made you sloppy. What if he sees?_ — The vulnerability is terrifying, but he’s sworn to go through with this and if Erik trusts anyone, he trusts Charles.

Charles blinks slowly, biting his (irritatingly red) lower lip, and Erik very nearly thinks something that would ruin everything, were the telepath to catch even a hint of it. God help him, Erik really needs to somehow make up for ten years forced celibacy before his libido gets out of hand.

“Why shouldn’t I just tell you to fuck off?” hisses Charles after what seems like a lifetime. “Twice, _twice_ I gave you my faith, and both times you betrayed me. How can you expect me to trust you after all you’ve done?” He punctuates the question with an angry slap to the armrests of his wheelchair; the meaning of which is all too obvious. _It’s your fault I’m like this_.

Erik’s breath catches in his throat. Everything rides on what he says now. After meeting Logan — _“You and Charles sent me. Together”_ — Erik will never forgive himself if they waste their precious second chance on a lifetime spent fighting.

“Charles, if you tell me to leave, I will,” he takes a deep breath. “I have no right to ask for your trust or for your forgiveness, but you told me once that I could be a better man and I think… I think, with your help, I’d like to try that.”

Charles is giving him a look and Erik doesn’t know what it means, he just knows that his words aren’t enough and the seconds are slipping by and he can hear Shaw’s voice counting in his brain — _einz, zwei, drei_ — and if he doesn’t make a move before the time runs out everything will be over and it will be his fault.

Something clicks into place and Erik is moving, falling on his knees and grabbing the telepath’s hand and pressing it hard to his forehead. “Read my mind like you did ten years ago,” he says through gritted teeth. “You had so much faith in me then Charles. If there’s any trace left in us of the men we were, you’ll give me a chance.”

And he lets the walls he’s built come tumbling down.

 


	5. No more secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles finally takes a look into Erik's stubborn head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I was at a workshop and didn't get a chance to right. The POV switches around a bit here because while it is technically Charles' POV, he's mostly reading Erik's mind and experiencing his memories, so those parts are written as Erik's.

_At first everything is darkness. There’s a smell of rotting flesh and sewage and fear, the scent of the camps, and Erik sees what men can do under orders to people who are different than them. Don’t let them see what you can do, they’ll kill you and Mami will be all alone. His family is slaughtered until it’s just him and his mother and he loses control, and then the man with the cold smile is telling Erik to move the coin and he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t touch the trigger but he kills his mother all the same._

_The following years pass in a blur of pain and bright lights and terror. He’s taken apart and reshaped over and over until he doesn’t recognize himself and some days it’s hard to remember his own name. “Be good, don’t scream, move the metal, learn to kill, embrace your hatred, you’re perfect.” But Shaw killed Erik’s mother and it’s that thought that keeps him from losing himself. He escapes. He hunts. He’s drowning. He’s failing._

“Ignore all this,” echoes a low voice in Charles’ head, cutting through the clouds of dust and blood. Erik. “Find that the brightest corner of my memories. That’s what matters.”

Charles complies. He moves past the pain, the hatred, the fear, searching for that point of light that he knows is buried deep in Erik’s mind. Shaw’s murder, nine years in prison, and the events surrounding Logan’s visit have cast new shadows in Erik’s mind, but Charles presses on. And then he feels it, a soft presence amidst the sharp edges and darkness. It’s changed since the day of the satellite, bigger and brighter, shining blue instead of gold. Tentatively Charles reaches out to touch it and suddenly there’s a flood of _heatpaincolorlaughterlove_ that he gasps and almost loses contact with Erik’s mind. Strong hands keep him steady, always keep him steady, and he sees...he sees himself.

_The first thing to come into focus is the blue in Charles’ eyes, so bright that Erik wonders if they’re linked to his mutation, and though Erik knows logically that Charles actually looks little different than most people, he can’t help but be blinded by the telepath’s radiance all the same. And so it begins. They travel together and Erik starts to see the colors that he’d forgotten existed._

_Charles nods off beside him as they drive beneath a midnight sky and Erik thinks, looking at the stars, that maybe diamonds aren’t so ugly after all. They play chess nearly every night and he can’t stop smiling because the firelight is making everything glow golden and Charles’ cheeks are pink with whisky and warmth and he’s so full of hope that Erik can almost believe in a future beyond killing Shaw. It’s on the steps of the Lincoln monument that he realizes how many shades of white there are, and then he becomes too distracted by the redness of Charles’ mouth to notice much else about his surroundings._

_Charles believes in him. Trusts him. Accepts him. Charles has seen the horror-story that is his life and yet still tells Erik that he can be something other than Shaw’s monster._

_They train the children and one another, high on discovery and power and the sense of belonging. Charles helps him move the satellite and he can feel himself falling, all the while knowing he’ll hit the ground soon —he’s not like Banshee or Angel. He’s metal, and metal is so, so heavy. The knowledge hurts but he’s used to torture, and he’ll take this over the other kinds he’s known._

_Being near Charles is yet another type of torture because there’s something lurking beneath the surface of their friendship that he’s terrified to acknowledge because Charles is a telepath and if he catches even a glimpse of this… this thing, he’ll send Erik packing as quickly as he welcomed him and if there’s anyone that can break Erik more than he’s already been broken it’s Charles. So he basks in the glow of their friendship, in Charles’ faith in him, and dares to be happy._

_Charles’ optimism, though infuriating, is beautiful, and Erik vows that he’ll do anything to keep the humans from destroying it, even if Charles ends up hating him for what he does._

_Cuba is a frenzy of fear and pain and Erik can’t think straight because half the time he’s there and half the time he’s back in Shaw’s labs or in the camps. He can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t. But then there are missiles being turned on the beach and the time has come to make a choice and he has to protect them. He wants so badly to drop the missiles in the ocean and keep Charles for himself, but more than that he wants to keep him safe, so Erik sends the missiles back and Charles tackles him and everything is hazy until Moira’s gun goes off and Erik deflects it and Charles is on the ground. Erik has never loathed himself more._

_Charles is hurt. Charles hates him. “You did this Erik.”_

_His heart is about to beat out of his chest and there’s blood roaring in his ears and he cradles the trembling body of the only person he’s loved, feeling hot blood soaking into his clothes. Words tumble from his mouth, but they’re not the right ones — “we want the same thing.” — and Charles is telling him to leave isn’t he? —“No, my friend, we do not.”_

_So Erik leaves, because he was made for destruction and he breaks everything he touches. He finds out a month later that Charles is paralyzed and has Azazel take him to an abandoned train-station in Siberia where he systematically crushes everything in sight until he’s panting and shivering and can barely feel his body. The only thing Mystique says to him when he gets back is “you should have worn a coat.”_

_Nine years in solitary confinement with blue eyes haunting him, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves him confused and tired and wanting to hear that voice more and more every day. Erik gets a lot of time to think during those years, so with no reason to hide his thoughts anymore, he lets his mind wander to fantasies of a kinder world. Charles laughing, leaning in just a little further over the chessboard and catching Erik’s lips with his own. Charles lying naked beside him in the darkness, sweaty and sated and beautiful. Charles grinning at him over the breakfast table as they grow old together._

_The man who breaks him out of the Pentagon is so unlike the pleasant optimist that Erik knew that he barely recognizes him. He’s angry and bitter, and without telepathy, Charles has lost his ability to look into Erik’s soul and find the meaning of the words Erik wants to say behind the ones he does._

_“We were supposed to protect them!” Erik screams because Charles has failed to take care of anyone, even himself, and it breaks Erik’s heart. He wants to grab Charles and push him against the plane wall and kiss him until he realizes that Erik is angry because he cares, but instead they argue and Charles storms off to sit by Hank in the cockpit._

_In France and at the White House everything goes to Hell all over again, but afterwards Erik begins to wonder if maybe he was wrong. Perhaps Charles’ world isn’t impossible after all… Whether or not that’s true, Erik is haunted by the possibility that he and Charles might spend a lifetime at odds, so he’s going to try to be the person Charles had once thought he was. If not for humanity, then for the mutant he loves._

Charles resurfaces with a desperate inhale, trembling at the rush of emotion that’s lighting up his nerves and blurring his vision with tears. Erik is still on his knees, eyes closed and breathing hard, and he’s the most beautiful thing Charles has ever seen because suddenly… suddenly things make sense.

“Fuck, we’re stupid,” Charles whispers, almost laughing, and Erik’s eyes snap open. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I was busy with family stuff and had to send it through the fabulous congratcha_well_done who is now BETA'ING (can I use the word like that?) for me! She's awesome.

Erik is too dizzy from the telepathic overload to struggle as Charles jerks him upward by the front of his shirt ( _now is not the time to admire the professor’s upper-body strength_ ). He expects to be slapped, punched, yelled at — he’d deserve it. _What was he thinking letting Charles see that far into him? He’s ruined everything, Charles must be disgusted._

He’s definitely not expecting to be kissed.

It’s clumsy and angry, more teeth and hot breath and fumbling for a decent angle than anything else, but it’s not a rejection, it’s not a blow, and when they surface for air, Erik is shocked to realize that they’re both trembling.

“If this is pity...” he starts breathlessly, but Charles cuts him off with a frustrated exhale that goes straight to Erik’s groin, and he’s awash with feelings that aren’t his own — _needyou/wantyou/loveyou_ — and Charles is in his head again, talking too much, as always. _‘Fuck Erik, I can’t believe this. Why’d you hide yourself away? Why did you have to fight me? Why are you such an idiot? I spent years trying to tell myself that it was for the best that we parted ways because at least I wouldn’t have to see you every day knowing I could never have you. Been wanting you for so long.’_

As the flood of emotion dissipates, Erik pulls himself up to rest his sore knees on the edge of the chair and straddles Charles, who makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat. The angle is better this time and Erik moans as Charles bites down hard on his lower lip, his hands settling at Erik’s waist and stroking the line of cold skin that his clinging shirt has left exposed.

Erik is careful not to put too much weight onto Charles’ lap, terrified that he’ll find some way to cause more damage than he already has, but the telepath clearly has different ideas. Charles pulls Erik closer with a rough motion that would have tipped over the chair had Erik not steadied it with a quick thought. Charles tastes soft, like Earl-Grey tea and honey, but his kisses are fierce and claiming, almost painful, and Erik savors the juxtaposition as he sucks thoughtfully on the other man’s upper lip. He’s not sure how far the sensation in Charles’ legs extends, but from the way Charles’ breath hitches when Erik grinds down on his lap, his cock at least seems to be in working order.

Erik grins into the kiss, “Interesting,” and repeats the motion, eliciting a small moan from the figure beneath him. _Yep, definitely working._

They startle at the sound of rushed footsteps in the hall and have barely separated (Erik hastily plopping into the seat behind the desk, hands firmly his lap) when Hank bursts into the room. At the sight of Erik he bares his teeth and growls, low, feral, and the puffed-up blue fur makes him appear even bigger than he already is. Yellow eyes gleam steadily from behind Hank’s glasses. Clever, calculating, cold. _Oh how Hank has changed_.  Erik knows that look. It’s the look of someone who will not hesitate to kill him. He tenses, reaching out for all the metal in the room, and prepares for the worst.

****  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles is extremely done with this conflict shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by congratcha_well_done, who is awesome. You guys should check her out!

Charles surveys the impending disaster with the resigned expression of someone who has been in far too many standoffs to find them particularly stressful any longer. _Really, this is getting almost ridiculous, It’s like he’s living in a soap opera. But with less sex. A lot less sex..._

After a moment of grievance for his starved libido, Charles heaves a dramatic sigh of, “Oh for Heaven’s sake, must I do _everything_ myself?” before telepathically freezing Hank and sending a pointed _‘Try anything violent and I really will make you think you’re a sloth, good kisser or no,’_ into Erik’s mind.

He chuckles at the confusion on Erik’s features, ( _‘What does a sloth have to do with any of this Charles?’_ ) before turning his attention toward the large, angry figure currently shedding blue fur all over his carpet.

Charles releases Hank’s jaw with a silent apology and waits for him to get his bearings. It doesn’t take long.

“What the Hell is _he_ doing here?” Hank growls, glaring accusingly at Erik. “He tried to kill Raven! And the President! And **us**!”

“Actually—” Erik starts to argue, but closes his mouth with a snap when Charles gives him an especially icy glare.

The telepath turns back to Hank, mind racing. _How on earth is he supposed to convince Hank that Erik, at least for the moment, is not a threat?_ Charles isn’t keen on the idea of sharing the more intimate details of Erik’s motivations, or his own for that matter, with the man who spent ten years listening to Charles’ increasingly bitter diatribes about Erik’s betrayal. So he settles for the truncated version, hoping that Hank trusts him enough to take his words at face value.

“Erik has done some serious reflection since DC,” he begins, “and in light of recent events — I’m referring to the pro-mutant trend in politics that we’ve been seeing — he has declared himself willing to attempt peaceful cohabitation with humans.”

Charles can sense the protests bubbling in Hank’s mind and switches to telepathic communication. _‘Do you trust me?’_

_‘Yes, of course professor, it’s just...he’s double crossed us twice before. I know you guys were...’_ Charles can feel Hank struggling for the right word, _'I know you guys were friends and all, but what if it’s a trick? What if he hurts someone again?’_

_‘I read his mind Hank. He believes himself to be sincere, and so do I. I’m not asking you to let your guard down completely, but I am asking you to trust me.’_

Charles breaks the mental connection and unfreezes Hank’s muscles. “Can you do that?” He asks in a voice so low that it’s barely audible even to the Beast’s ears.  

After what seems like forever, Hank nods and turns toward Erik. “So, I guess you’re staying here for now,” he says stiffly.

Erik raises his eyebrows, tilting his head toward the professor in an unspoken question. Grey eyes meet blue and Charles sighs, because no matter how much suffering Erik has wrought, no matter how much damage those desperate, misguided grabs for power have caused, Charles cannot bring himself to stand by as Erik drowns in his own anger.

He jumped into a raging sea once to save that idiot, he might as well do it again.

“Yes,” he says, and suddenly he’s smiling in a way that he hasn’t in years. “Erik is staying.”

 


	8. Alone Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, I actually wrote smut. Enjoy.  
> *warning, very slight drug reference*  
> THANK YOU TO congratcha_well_done!!!!!!

When Charles asks Hank to leave Erik and himself alone to discuss matters, the young scientist is all too happy to make his escape as quickly as possible. Hank will tolerate Erik’s presence for Charles’ sake, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. _Fucking insane, the both of them_ , he thinks, not particularly caring if the telepath hears him or not.

As it happens, Charles is too focused on the figure currently rising from behind the desk (his tall silhouette framed nicely in the window) to notice Hank’s opinion.

Erik crosses the room with three long strides until he’s standing between Charles’ legs, his mouth curved in a tiny smirk as he lets his gaze linger. Charles stares up at him through his eyelashes. Bold. Hungry. He’s a man who likes getting what he wants, and now that Erik isn’t off limits… well, the time for subtlety is long past.

“Are you going to lean down to kiss me, or do I have to risk tearing your shirt again?” he asks, twitching his fingers to illustrate his point.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s exactly what I want you to do,” Erik counters. _God, he’s infuriating._

After that of course, the only thing Charles can do is carry his threat and yank Erik down by his collar, thrilled by the hot flash of arousal that surges through Erik’s body at the rough handling.

“So that’s how you like it,” Charles murmurs between kisses, freeing his lips from Erik’s and mouthing wetly down his neck. He bites down on Erik’s collarbone and relishes the sharp gasp before he soothes the spot with his tongue. “Your shirt’s still wet. Take it off.”

Erik wastes no time unfastening his buttons, but when the shirt is tossed aside, he doesn’t immediately plunge into their kiss again as Charles had expected he would. Instead he hooks his fingers beneath Charles’ sweater.

“Arms up,” Erik whispers with a grin that is positively predatory, before tugging the garment over Charles’ head. It joins the wet clothes on the floor and he begins to unbutton Charles’ shirt with agonizing slowness.

“Hurry up,” Charles snaps, but there’s no real anger in his voice as his eyes rake up and down Erik’s bare upper body. The decade in a prison cell has taken it’s toll on Erik: where once Charles would have called him lean, gaunt is now a better term. He’s pale too, and the scars criss-crossing his chest and back seem even more prominent against the white skin. He’s still the most beautiful fucking thing Charles has ever seen. He wants to kiss every inch of him, soothe every scar — the ones on his soul as well as his skin — make Erik feel loved in every way he feels he doesn’t deserve.

He leans up to catch Erik in an open-mouthed kiss as his own shirt falls open and Erik’s hand comes to rest on Charles’ chest, cool, and soft, and strong as iron. When Erik’s thumb brushes over his sensitive nipple he can’t help the small moan that escapes him. This of course only encourages Erik and he teases the area until Charles responds by breaking their kiss and laving his tongue across Erik’s own biceps, nipping small marks into the sensitive flesh.

It’s still not enough though. Soon, Erik’s hands are fumbling with Charles’ belt buckle and Charles has to let go of Erik, using his armrests as leverage to lift himself off the chair while Erik slides pants and boxer shorts over atrophied thighs.

Charles ducks his head, suddenly self-conscious of the way his own body has changed. The only muscle he has to speak of his in his shoulders, and he hasn’t been using the chair long enough for even that to be particularly impressive. He’s thin, even paler than Erik is, and his hair (though clean) is still too long to be considered stylish. His arms bear needle scars from years spent in a haze of drugs both medicinal and otherwise. His useless legs are rapidly taking on a skeletal appearance.

Noticing the sudden change in demeanor, Erik grabs Charles jaw and forces his chin up. No words are exchanged, but the hungry look in Erik’s grey eyes is enough to steady Charles’ nerves. “I’m actually incredibly lucky, you know,” the telepath says with a wry smile. “My nervous system is a bit different than people’s as a result of my mutation, so while the bullet severed most of the nerve clusters at the base of my spine, some remained intact and I only lose sensation below mid thigh. All this,” he blushes, indicating his half-hard cock and the surrounding area, “works just fine. It’s quite fascinating...”

“You talk too much,” Erik interrupts, kneeling down and pressing a finger to Charles’ lips. Whatever else the telepath was going to say is lost in a low moan as Erik’s other hand begins to map his thighs and the sharp lines of his hipbones while his mouth trails down Charles’ abdomen.

Charles is achingly hard by the time Erik’s lips brush the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and he can’t quite help the way the weak muscles of his hips twitch, seeking desperately for some sort of friction.

“For fuck’s sake Erik, hurry up,” he gasps, “I’ve been waiting eleven years for something like this so stop —” he’s cut off abruptly as Erik’s lips close over the end of his cock and it’s hot and wet and _ohgodyespleasemore._

He whimpers and claps a hand over his mouth, biting into the skin to keep from embarrassing himself. Erik seems unperturbed, taking more of Charles’ length into his mouth and wrapping his hand around the base. He hums around Charles’ cock before swallowing around him and _shit it’s been too long, Charles isn’t going to last like this._

When Erik’s tongue swirls around the end of his cock, Charles can’t help the way his fingers clench into the other man’s hair, forcing a loud moan from Erik’s throat. It’s a beautiful sound, low and desperate, and the way Charles can feel it vibrate through both their bodies is intoxicating. His hips are twitching involuntarily, and had they been stronger he would have been mercilessly fucking into Erik’s mouth. As it stands, the other man is doing all the work, bobbing his head faster as he senses Charles drawing near the edge.

“Erik,” Charles chokes out, “Erik, I’m going to — damnit,”

He comes with a small cry, throwing his head back as Erik guides him through his orgasm, swallowing around his cock and lacing their fingers tightly together. Finally Erik pulls off with a deep breath and sits back on his heels to survey his work.

Charles is a wreck, sweaty and trembling and not quite believing in what just happened, but he’s also… happy. Happier than he’s been in years. So he smiles and grabs Erik’s shirt (this is becoming a habit) and when they kiss he can taste himself in the other man’s mouth.

Erik is real and strong and just gave him a _spectacular_ blowjob, but more importantly he’s _here_ and he’s _staying_. And for the first time in a long time Charles feels like maybe things are looking up for him.

“You’re still an asshole,” he mutters, because even with a second chance, certain things never change.

Erik just laughs at him and deepens their kiss “You’re still too trusting, I could have bitten your dick off.”

Yeah, some things won’t change, and somehow Charles knows that he’ll be arguing with Erik for the rest of his life. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll be about things like chores, and chess, and who's turn it is to take care of the latest teenage-mutant crisis. 

You know, the little things. 


End file.
